My Friend Voldemort
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: AVADA KEDAVERA! Voldemort shouted, his wand pointed at the girl. She fell to the ground, unmoving. Satisfied, he turned away, then froze. He heard laughter... Voldemort has met his match. UPDATED AT LAST
1. 1: The Girl

My Friend Voldemort

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or Voldemort. However, he gave me the right to use his full name in this fiction, but only after I bribed him with a chocolate cheesecake.

AN: I got the idea for this fic by reading '101 ways to annoy, harass, confuse or generally scare Lord Voldemort' by Amanda Lack, on mugglenet. Or maybe it was Whatever, she is a genius.

For those of you who care, this could easily be described as SRS, or Sessomaru Rin Syndrome. There is no romance in it, though.

Chapter 1: The Girl

Sarah took a bite out of her hamburger and chewed thoughtfully, staring at the strangers a few hundred feet away from her. She shifted her position slightly, so the branch she was sitting on didn't poke into her side anymore. The strangers were fascinating. One of them was short and looked disturbingly like a rat. He kept pacing around the clearing, looking around with wide eyes. The other one was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, absolutely silent. Both of them were wearing billowing black robes, reminding Sarah of some weird cult. When she finished her hamburger, she climbed out of the tree and tiptoed toward the two. It wasn't exactly difficult, considering that Rat was squeaking and shuffling and whining a lot, and making more noise than six teenage girls possibly could. Sarah suppressed a giggle as she ducked right behind Rat, close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

"BOO!" she shouted. Rat jumped at least thirty feet into the air, screaming like a girl all the way. That was more than enough for Sarah. Her knees gave out completely, and she rolled around on the ground, laughing hysterically. Rat wasn't helping to calm her down, because he was now running around in frantic circles, waving what looked like a sparkler, screaming at the top of his lungs. Sarah was laughing so hard that she didn't notice when the second figure stood up and reached into his robe, pulling out a long thin stick. Rat, still in a wild panic, ran headfirst into a tree. Tears were streaming from Sarah's eyes, and her side was aching from laughter. After fifteen minutes, she was finally calming down, deciding she should probably go make sure that Rat hadn't knocked himself into a coma or something. She looked up, and instantly burst into another fit of laughter.

Standing over her was the other man, and his hood was finally down. His skin was pure white, like he had colored it with a gallon of grease paint. His eyes were huge and bright red, though almost pink around the edges, and his pupils were slitted, like a cat's. He was absolutely bald, and in his hand was a stick, which was now pointed at Sarah. She was still rolling around on the ground, crying with mirth, so she didn't see him narrow his eyes or hear him mutter, "_Avada Kedavra_!" Sarah fell face first into the ground, twitching, but absolutely silent. The white skinned man turned away from her, smiling smugly, but stopped dead.

He heard _laughter_.

He turned around slowly. The girl had risen to her knees, clutching her stomach and gasping for breath between bouts of laughter. The man's eyes widened slightly.

After a few more minutes, the laughter faded to wild giggles, and those into chuckling.

"So-so-sorry about that," Sarah gasped, wiping the tears from her face and rising to her feet. "I just had to do it, you know?"

"What. Are. You." The man said. His voice didn't really have a pitch to it. It was more of a hiss.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. I'm Sarah. Sarah... never mind. Just Sarah. What about you? What's your name? Why are you wearing makeup? Where did you get those contacts? Can I have some? What's that stick thingy? What are you doing out here in the middle of the woods? Who's rat boy over there? Did you shave your head yourself or are you just naturally bald?"

"Insolent muggle," the man hissed. "I am Lord Voldemort. Now die." he put a heavy emphasis on the last four words.

"Oh cool! Are you an actor? Can I have your autograph? Please?" she rummaged through her pockets for a pen and paper.

"Crucio," Lord Voldemort said in irritation.

"Pardon?" Sarah said, looking up.

"Crucio." Lord Voldemort said again.

"What's that mean?"

"_Crucio"_ Voldemort hissed, shaking his wand slightly. Sarah cocked her head to the side.

"Are you okay?" she asked, slightly disturbed.

"I said _CRUCIO_!" Voldemort shouted, hitting Sarah in the head with the stick.

"Ow!" she cried. "What was that for?" Voldemort's eyes were frighteningly wide now. In his moment of shock, Sarah grabbed the stick out of his hand. "No more pointy objects for you, you jerk!" she snapped.

"Give me my wand," Voldemort said quietly, still in shock from the failure of his favorite curse.

"Not a chance," Sarah said. "You can have it back when you learn not to hit people. Until then, this thing belongs to me." She paused. "Wand?" she asked. "What do you think you are? A wizard?"

"I am the greatest wizard of all time, you foolish girl!"

"And I'm calling the nuthouse. Don't worry, I think you'll like the people there. I hear the men in white are very nice." Voldemort grabbed for his wand.

"You are calling no one, girl. You will give me my wand, and then you will die."

"Spiffy. Tell you what. If you're really a wizard, prove it to me." Voldemort was looking peeved.

"Of course, _girl_," he crooned. "Give me my wand, and I will prove I am a wizard. All right?" The look in his eyes was of pure loathing, but Sarah seemed to miss this crucial point.

"All right." She shrugged, handing him the wand. As soon as the wand was back in the wizard's hands, he laughed triumphantly and pointed the wand at Sarah.

"AVADA KEDAVERA!" he bellowed. Nothing happened.

"Come to think about it," Sarah offered, "Maybe that thing isn't your wand at all. All the wands I ever heard about had a star at the end or a bunch of jewels or stuff like that. Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab a stick or something?" Of course, while she was saying this, Voldemort occupied himself by shouting every known curse and hex at her, hoping to do anything from kill her to turn her hair green. The only effect, however, was that he became increasingly more irritated.

"For death's sake, INCENDIO!" he shouted, waving his wand to the side in frustration. There was a loud bang and a bright light, and both the wizard and the girl turned around suddenly. The tree that Voldemort had pointed on was on fire. Sarah's eyes were wide.

"Did you do that?" she asked breathlessly, turning back to the wizard.

"Of course I did it, you simpleton," he growled.

"Really? Cool! Do it again! Do it again!" Sarah squealed. Voldemort aimed his wand at her.

"Incendio," he said. Again, nothing happened. He pointed the wand at another tree, repeating the incantation. Obediently, the tree burst into flame. Somewhere behind the two, Wormtail woke up and rose unsteadily to his feet, shaking with his typical panic. Voldemort turned to his servant. "Stupefy," he said. A shot of red light flew from his wand and hit Wormtail, freezing him in his tracks. He repeated the incantation on Sarah. Again, nothing was happening. The girl seemed oblivious.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "Weren't you planning on killing me or something?"

"Be quiet, muggle," Voldemort said. He turned and began walking away, absently unstunning Wormtail, who followed after his master shakily.

Several minutes passed while Sarah stood unmoving, trying to sort things out.

Lord Voldemort was a wizard.

The thought ran through her head like a toddler with too much sugar.

A wizard.

A real wizard.

When Sarah looked up, she was alone.

The flowers on the grave had wilted. Sarah pushed her dark hair out of her eyes as she bent down and replaced them with fresh white roses. Three months had passed since the tomb's resident had died. Two weeks ago, she had seen a wizard with white skin and red eyes who called himself Lord Voldemort. Sarah knelt before the tombstone and said a soft prayer.

Sarah had stopped at McDonalds for lunch, and was thoughtfully finishing the last of her McChicken as she strolled down one of the more deserted roads in the town. She looked up absently, thinking about the wizards she had seen earlier.

Something black caught her eye as it disappeared behind a distant building.

Of course, stupefied by her excitement, naïve as ever, she ran after it, hoping for the impossible.

"Lord Voldemort!" Wormtail squealed as the girl ran in on their supposedly secret hiding place. "She's back! What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to throw yourself from a cliff, but I suspect that you would bungle that as well," Voldemort hissed irritably, earning a giggle from Sarah. He had gotten less sleep than usual, mostly because of the girl that was now standing in front of him. She was a paradox: obviously a muggle, but somehow immune to magic, which was impossible. The one person on whom his spells had _ever_ failed before was Harry Potter, and he was sure the experience hadn't been repeated. He wasn't sure what to do about her. He detested the idiotic killing strategies that muggles used—knives were too messy, guns too loud, hanging took too long. He could always tell Wormtail to crush her throat, but that would require him to praise the little rat, which was beyond where he drew the line. He stared at Sarah in annoyance. "What are you doing here, you foolish girl?" he asked, resigning himself to talking to her until he got the chance to push her off the roof of some building. "Does your mother know where you are?" had he gotten more sleep over the last couple of weeks, he would probably have said something really nasty, but for the moment he was far too tired.

"She knows," Sarah said casually. "She's watching me right now." At this, Wormtail spun around, tripped, and landed face first on the ground, his eyes wide. Sarah laughed brightly. "She's always watching me," she explained when she stopped laughing. "She's dead." This caught Voldemort's interest.

"Indeed?" he hissed. "How, exactly, did she die?" Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I'm not telling." She said in a singsong voice.

"Then why are you here?"

AN: well, Read and Review. Flame it if you want—it's a bit half-baked, but it'll get better. Really. And email me if you have any ideas or jokes you would like to submit. Remember—it's supposed to be a comedy. And someday I will come back and work the kinks out of it.

I know it's kind of serious right now, but it's just to explain a few things. It gets funnier. Really.


	2. 2: The Not So Diagonal Diagon Alley

Chapter 2: The Not So Diagonal Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: I own nothing. However, if I really wanted to, I could just skip this disclaimer and imperius all the lawyers off my back, but then the ministry would send me nasty letters again. Also, J.K. Rowling wrote the newspaper article, so don't start praising me about how well written it is.

"Master," Wormtail said weakly. "Why is the girl still here?"

"Because I doubt you could think of a way to get rid of her." Voldemort said flatly.

"Basically," Sarah agreed, chewing merrily on a piece of bubble gum.

"As for you," Voldemort said, turning to the girl. He was met with a large pink bubble, which burst in his face. Sarah sucked in her gum again, and blew several more bubbles, all of which popped with a satisfying smack. "Stop that! Why are you following me?" The girl blew one last bubble, this one inflating until it was roughly the size of her head, which burst with a loud bang, getting pink goo all over her face.

"Cuz you're cool." She said with a big grin as she began peeling the bubble gum off her skin.

"What?" the wizard said, confused.

"You know, cool. Rippin', savvy, nifty, hip, groovy, tubular," she leaned really close to him, her eyes narrowed. "What decade do you come from, anyway?"

"It is rude to ask one's age," Voldemort said dryly.

"Nah. That's just for women. Self conscious, you know," she said knowingly. Then, in a sudden change of character, she straightened and looked around. "Where are we?" she said.

"We are heading for Diagon alley." Voldemort said.

"Diagonally? What's diagonal? Diagonally what? I see horizontal stuff. Vertical too. But nothing's diagonal here," she looked around again. "And what's with the hood, Volders?" somewhere under the shrouding hood, Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I am not welcome here," he said irritably. "And do not address me as Volders."

"Well what am I supposed to call you?"

"Voldemort. Lord Voldemort."

"All righty, Lord Voldemor—,"

"Do not call me that here! If anyone hears that name, the Ministry will be on me in an instant!"

"Right... which brings me back to square one. What do ya want me to call ya, Volders?"

"...Tom. If you need to address me, call me Tom."

"Tom..." Sarah repeated, calm and serious for a moment before returning to her normal bubbly self. "Okay, Tommy-boy!" Voldemort heaved an exasperated sigh and walked into an alley next to some strange shop that looked faintly like an old style bar. Of course, Wormtail and Sarah followed him obediently, though Sarah was skipping and humming, while Wormtail was fidgeting with his cloak and hood and whimpering about something indiscernible. A moment later, the three had reached the end of the alley.

"Um... Tommy-boy... I don't see anything diagonal here." Sarah said. In response, Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it at her.

"Stupefy." He said tiredly.

"Stupefy yourself, Tommy-boy," the girl said, laughing. Voldemort turned away from her and began tapping bricks on the wall with his wand. Suddenly, a small hole appeared in the stone. It widened until it was tall enough for someone to step through. "COOL!" Sarah shouted. "I wanna try!" she snatched the wand out of his hand and ran through the hole.

"COME BACK HERE!" Voldemort shouted, chasing after her.

A half hour later, Voldemort, his side aching, crashed into Sarah, who had stopped short. She was staring at one of the shop windows, transfixed.

"That's a broom," she said dazedly.

"Yes it is. Give me my wand." Voldemort panted, cursing her mentally for making him look so ridiculous, despite the fact that no one recognized him.

"But... it's floating. It's... flying... It's a flying broomstick."

"Clearly. Most wizards use them. Now give me back my wand."

"You mean people ride those?"

"They certainly don't sweep floors with them. Give me my wand."

"Wow... I still don't see anything diagonal, though."

"What? Oh. Nothing is diagonal. This street is called Diagon Alley. It is an alley called Diagon. Now give me my wand."

"Oh. That explains a lot. What are we doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you to give me my wand."

"Eventually. But why did we come to Diagon Alley?"

"I need a copy of the Daily Prophet. Now give me my wand."

"A prophet? Like Moses and Muhammad and all them?"

"No. It is a newspaper. Give me my wand."

"How are you going to get the newspaper if you're not supposed to be here?"

"I—"

"Tommy-Boy! You're not going to STEAL one, are you?" Several heads turned toward the two.

"Give me my wand."

"No wonder you're not popular here! Tell you what. How much are those newspapers? I'll go in and get you one."

"They will not accept muggle money."

"Wizards use different money?"

"Yes."

"Hmm... Do you have any?" Sarah made her eyes wide and did her best to look irresistibly cute.

"I am a Dark Lord—"

"I'll give you your wand back." Voldemort's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat.

"Fine," he said, digging into his pocket. He dropped a handful of change into Sarah's outstretched hand. "Now give me my—"

"In a second," she said. "I gotta make sure you don't run off on my while I'm shopping. Where'm I gonna find this 'Daily Prophet?'"

"Come with me." Too exhausted to fight her logic, Voldemort trudged to the nearest bookshop, Sarah bouncing merrily at his heels.

"Wow," Sarah said as she wandered along the shelves of . Voldemort, for the sake of anonymity, had stayed outside. There were thousands of books, none of which she could recognize. She passed by a shelf that had been devoted to one author, Gilderoy Lockheart. All of them had a picture of Lockheart (she guessed it was him, anyway,) winking and smiling. He looked like an idiot. He was handsome, to be sure, but his eyes looked empty. Stupid.

Sarah scolded herself for making the assumption. She picked up one of the book and read the blurb on the back cover. Unsatisfied, she picked up another title, and another.

"Why do people buy this trash?" she muttered to herself in disgust. She knew better than to trust a handsome face and an oversized resume. "No one's _that_ good." She walked away from the shelves. Several more covers gestured and winked at her, and she waved back, the serious mood disappearing instantly.

"Can I help you?" a voice said from behind her.

"Oh! Hello!" she turned around to face a man who appeared to be the shopkeeper. "How do they do that?" she asked, her reason for coming into the shop almost forgotten.

"What? Oh, yes. You're a muggle born, aren't you?" Muggle... Voldemort had explained it to her earlier. It meant non-wizard.

"Yup." She said, nodding proudly.

"Well then," the shopkeeper said, laughing merrily. "All the pictures here are enchanted so that the subjects in them are basically alive. It's like that all over the wizarding world."

"Wow. Sounds dizzy."

"You get used to it after a while. But tell me, do you need help with anything?"

"Oh, yeah. Where can I find the newspapers?"

"Right this way, miss," the shopkeeper led Sarah past several more shelves, to a series of stacked newspapers. She picked up one that was headed _The Daily Prophet._

"Will that be all?"

"Yes, thanks. Where do I pay?"

"I can take care of that right here. Let's see... that'll be a sickle and two knuts." Sarah raised her eyebrow in confusion.

"...I don't usually carry nuts with me," she said.

"What do you have?" the shopkeeper asked, amused.

"These," Sarah pulled a few of the strange coins out of her pocket.

"That's right, you're muggle born. See these silver coins? They're sickles. And the little bronze ones are knuts. Two of those and a sickle and you're all clear."

"Oh," Sarah said, handing the shopkeeper the money. "Thank you."

"No problem," he said. "By the way, how did you get into Diagon Alley in the first place? You seem a little lost, no offense."

"My friend helped me," Sarah said, turning back to the window where Voldemort was waiting for her. "That's Tommy-Boy. And Rizzo's here too." She said, pointing at the two hooded figures waiting at the entrance. "He's one of Tommy-Boy's friends. They were out running errands, so I offered to get them the paper," She added before the shopkeeper could ask any awkward questions. "Thank you for your help. Have a nice day!" She skipped back to the two wizards.

"Got it!" she grinned. "And it's perfectly legal, too!"

"Very well," Voldemort said from under his hood. "What about my wand?"

"Oh, that," Sarah laughed. She pulled it out of her pocket and gave it to him. "Here you go."

A few minutes later, two wizards and a girl were sitting at a table in one of Diagon Alley's many restaurant.

"I call funnies," Sarah said.

"What?" Wormtail asked.

"Funnies. Funny pages. Comics. The pages in the middle that you give to kids to amuse themselves or clip so you can tack them up on bulletin boards. Those."

"Oh. Those," Wormtail said, understanding slightly.

"There, amuse yourself." Voldemort said, handing Sarah the middle pages. The illustrations weren't much like the ones in the Sunday paper. They were comics, to be sure, but the pictures moved, making it more like watching dozens of little captioned movies than reading the paper. She focused on one doodle. It showed a boy with scruffy black hair and a lightning bolt in the middle of his head rolling on the floor, and a bunch of people running away from him, saying stuff like 'he's crazy'. The next panel showed him get up and start shouting at the crowd 'I was having a seizure, you maniacs!' Sarah put down the paper, one eyebrow raised. She shook her head and examined the rest of the cartoons.

"Um, Tommy-boy," she said, tapping Voldemort on the shoulder. "I don't get it." Voldemort glanced down from the newspaper to the comics Sarah was pointing at.

"Wizard humor," he explained. "Bad wizard humor," he amended, looking distastefully at the cartoon. "I assure you, you are missing out on nothing of value."

"Oh," Sarah said. "Thanks. What are you looking at?"

"Current events," Voldemort said. Sarah looked down at the article.

**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns**

_In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more._

"'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,' huh?" Sarah noted. "Now there's a mouthful. Who comes up with this stuff?"

"_It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself lord—well, you know who I mean—is still alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. _

"_It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Askaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord—Thingy._

"'Lord Thingy,'" Sarah repeated. "Very classy. And it's no wonder these demetors revolted. If people went around calling me demented, I'd revolt too."

"_We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."_

"Now there's a way to make sure people get in trouble," the girl laughed. "The only people who ever actually read those pamphlets are nosy kids like me. The same kids, may I add, who nobody in the world seems to listen to."

_The minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was 'no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more.'_

"No. I don't know who. Who? Enlighten me."

_Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening._

"Nice," Sarah said approvingly. "'Death Eaters'. That would make the coolest name for a rock band. But they'd have to play some real heavy stuff, you know? But Tommy-boy, I don't get this one part. What does it mean by 'gained entry to the Ministry itself'?"

"It means," Voldemort said, unusually surprised, "That they entered the main headquarters."

"Oh." Sarah skimmed over the rest of the article. "You know, this Harry Potter guy doesn't sound right."

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked.

"Yeah. I mean, look at all the stuff they're saying about him—'a lone voice of truth', 'young, tragic hero,' it just sounds too good to be true. Nobody's that great."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yeah. Honestly, Hitler did the same thing: he got everyone to think he was some kind of angel, plastered his praises all over Germany, and then he turned around and started killing all the Jews. I say that anyone with a resume that big can't be doing anything but lying."

"Very perceptive," Voldemort noted.

"And this other guy. It's just like in Spiderman, where everybody trashes the good guy for kicks, just because he runs around in red tights. This guy, they won't even say his name. And they keep going on and on about how terrible he is, but they don't even touch on his background. Really! At least they could try to figure out _why_ he's doing everything he's doing. Maybe someone could try to help him, maybe stop something bad from happening again. But _no_. All they can think to do is sit around blaming the first person in sight. Isn't there something called 'duty to the people'?"

"B-bravo." Wormtail said quietly.

"Who is that poor guy, anyway?"

"That," Voldemort said, his voice showing a faint trace of amusement, "would be me."

"No wonder you wanted me to call you Tom. These people are complete nut jobs. I bet if they found out who you really are, they'd tar and feather you or something weird like that. I'm surprised you can stand to read this stuff. If I read too many stories like this it would really mess me up."

"Meaning you aren't already?" the Dark Lord asked dryly.

"Very funny." Sarah chuckled, then stood up. "'Scuse me for a second, I've got to go to the bathroom." She got up and moved away from the table, disappearing into the crowd.

Twenty minutes later the girl returned to Voldemort's table, skipping, her hands behind her back.

"I refuse to believe that you spent all that time relieving yourself." Voldemort remarked, glaring at Sarah from under his hood.

"Long line," the girl shrugged, trying to suppress a smile as the Dark Wizard's face shifted into a look of slight horror. "But I took a little detour." A wide grin covered her face as she pulled a large, powder blue shape from behind her back and shoved it into his arms. Closer examination revealed the figure to be a rather fluffy stuffed bear. He searched for something to say, but found himself at a loss for words, left only to stare blankly at Sarah. "I knew you'd like it," she said merrily. "I figured if anyone needed a teddy bear it would be you." Too shocked to act sensibly, Voldemort didn't put down the bear. He almost forgot he was holding it by the time he led his minion and his tagalong out of Diagon Alley.

Almost.

But not quite.


	3. 3: Home Sweet Home

Chapter 3: A New Home

Disclaimer: Okay, I confess! I'm J. K. Rowling, and the reason I've taken forever to write the books is that I'm too busy writing Fanfictions! casts worried glance at angry mob On second thought, I'm just an adoring fan, and I don't own Harry Potter.

Voldemort sighed despite himself as he waited for Wormtail to find a spare blanket for Sarah. The girl had followed the two of them to his hideout, and threatened to steal his wand again if he tried to disappear. Though annoyed, the Dark Lord was intrigued by the girl's determination, as well as her general lack of fear. Despite her bizarre behavior, she was obviously intelligent, though she still followed him tirelessly.

"W-where shall I p-put these, M-Master?" Wormtail whimpered once he returned from his expedition, carrying an armful of blankets and sheets.

"Place them there," Voldemort said absently, gesturing to a sofa at the side of the room.

"Of c-course," Wormtail said, quickly obeying.

"This is great!" Sarah laughed, bouncing around the room. "Just like a slumber party! This—" she was froze at the soft hiss of a large, acid green snake as it wound its path across the ground toward her. The snake examined her coldly, flicking its tongue.

"Nagini," Voldemort said. The snake instantly turned and glided to his feet. It hissed at him, though somehow, the sound was less threatening now. Oddly enough, Voldemort spoke to the snake, though he didn't use words, but soft, whispering hisses. The snake glanced back at Sarah for a moment, then slipped away, casually gliding up a banister, where it watched the scene with mild interest.

"Wow," Sarah breathed. "A…a green mamba, right?" Her mood seemed to have changed to one of respectful awe. Voldemort nodded, struck that she was so well informed. "Is Nagini its name?"

"_Her_ name," the wizard corrected.

"Oh…sorry. And what were those sounds you were making? You sounded kind of like a snake, you know."

"I should think so. That was _Parseltongue_. The language of the snakes."

"Cool…Could you teach me to speak it?" Voldemort was beginning to enjoy the momentary calm.

"It is a language known from birth. It cannot be learned, nor taught."

"Oh…that's too bad. You can understand snakes too, then?" she cast a respectful glance at the snake and began to set up her bed on the couch.

"I can," Voldemort said.

"That must come in handy." She was now fluffing a large pillow.

"Very often. It is a highly coveted talent," the wizard preened. Sarah laughed softly.

"I thought so. Say," her mood brightened to a bubbly eagerness. "Do you have anything to eat around here? I'm starved!"

"Go make something for us to eat, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded. "And don't destroy the kitchen this time." Sarah looked slightly disturbed by this comment.

"On second thought, how's pizza sound? I know Papa John's delivers, and—"

"No!" the wizard snapped. Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"What? Don't you like pizza? We could get Chinese, too."

"Our stay here is supposed to be a _secret_. No one has inhabited this house for years, and it would hinder my plans _severely_ if people begin to suspect that I am here, which they _will_ if you have _pizza delivered to the front door!_" Sarah was smiling and nodding, though she looked as though she was holding back a long string of giggles.

"All righty, Volders, she said, reaching into her backpack and producing a bag of beef jerky. "Do you want some?" she asked, popping a piece into her mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. Voldemort rolled his eyes and took a few pieces of dried meat from the bag. Wormtail tentatively followed suit before rushing off to cook dinner.

"There is such thing as take out," she pointed out, bouncing onto the couch/bed. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at her. "You know, I walk in, order a pizza, and twenty minutes later, I pick it up. No hassle, no ruined secret identity, no discovered hiding place, no need for a tip. Just pizza."

"I take it that you are fond of pizza," Voldemort said, easing into an armchair.

"It's really good," she confirmed. "But I'm not going to say no to cooked food either. Hamburgers are great and all, but they get kind of boring after a while."

"Then you are going to be sorely disappointed," the wizard said dryly. "Wormtail can cook, but his…creations…are far from appetizing."

"Maybe he just needs some help, is all."

She got up and walked into the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later she walked out again, her face and most of her clothes covered in soot. She coughed and wiped her eyes.

"He says he's got it all taken care of," she said. Voldemort leaned over and tried to glance into the kitchen, but saw nothing but thick black smoke.

"It's coming along fine!" he heard Peter Petigrew shout from the room. He glanced back at Sarah, who was shaking her head and mouthing what appeared to be 'don't ask'.

"One second," she said aloud as he nodded. "Let me change." She turned to the side to leave, then stopped suddenly. "Er…where's the bathroom?" she asked.

"Down the hall, second door to your left," the wizard said quietly, still trying to peer through the smoke that was leaking into the room.

"Thanks," Sarah said, grabbing her backpack from next to the couch/bed and disappearing into the hall.

Several minutes passed before she returned, wearing a sweat suit, her pulled into a braid and her face thoroughly washed.

"Much better," she sighed, dropping back into the couch.

"You ran away from home, didn't you?" Voldemort asked suddenly. Sarah considered the question for a moment.

"I ran away from where I used to live, yes. But it wasn't home." Her tone was light and cheerful, but her face showed complete sobriety.

"Do you intend to return to school in the autumn?" he asked. Sarah shrugged sadly.

"I'd like to. I can't though." This interested Voldemort. Though he would rather swallow a toad than admit it, he had enjoyed school; it had been a welcomed refuge from the cold orphanage into which his childhood years had disappeared.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I got expelled." Her tone was still light, a slight smile still remained on her face, but her eyes showed something deeper. Sorrow. Pain. Anger.

"Why?" The word seemed strange to the wizard. But he was intrigued now.

"Er…I think the official report says 'assault and attempted assault on other students'…" she trailed off.

"Indeed?" Voldemort asked, now completely interested. "And what exactly happened off this report?" Sarah shrugged.

"Somebody put my stepfather's gun and a forged hit list in my backpack. Well… First period, when I put my backpack down, the gun went off, and one of the students got hurt pretty bad. Long story short is that I got kicked out of school."

"Wh—" Voldemort was interrupted when Wormtail stumbled out of the kitchen, his face black with soot, followed by a procession of smoke.

"D-dinner," he coughed, "is ready…"

"Let us make haste, Lord Volders," Sarah laughed, instantly shifting from her earlier mood. "Another fine adventure awaits us at Master Wormtail's glorious feast!" she jumped to her feet and bounded to the kitchen to help Peter Pettigrew. Lord Voldemort slowly rose from his seat and followed after her, slightly annoyed at the interruption.

Lord Voldemort stared in amusement at Sarah, who was poking the deformed mass on her plate suspiciously.

"It looks good," she lied. "You know, Wormtail, you could start a new weight loss plan. You'd make millions." Voldemort smirked at no one. His servant stuttered a sheepish thanks, clearly missing the meaning behind the compliment. "But have you ever been to Don Pablo's? They have this great new menu. You have to try it! Maybe tomorrow…"

_Perhaps my days of starvation are over,_ the Dark Lord thought in an unusual flash of optimism, smirking a little wider as he watched Sarah wrestle her food down her throat.


	4. 4: The DeathEaters

Disclaimer: Whoo boy. Sarah is my own creation. But that's about it. I own nothing.

AN: THE STORY IS NOT DEAD! Thanks to my friend PotterSister for being so stubborn and eventually provoking me into continuing this. I love writing it.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Death Eaters**

Lord Voldemort made sure that Sarah was still sleeping before he dragged Wormtail out of the house.

"My Lord," the minion whimpered. "W-where are we g-going?"

The Dark Lord silenced him with a sharp glare. He walked on, his hand brushing a tree as he passed it.

_PFSHHHH!_

Lord Voldemort snapped around, scanning the woods behind him intently, but nothing could be seen. Wormtail whimpered again, but said nothing.

The dark wizard turned and walked on. Several minutes later he heard another loud hiss. He turned around once again to see a branch that he had shoved out of his way a few moments before. It was surrounded in a strange mist.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

Sarah poked her head out from behind a tree. She held what appeared to be a damp sponge in one hand and a can of disinfectant in the other.

"Hey, Volders!" she cheered. Lord Voldemort blinked. This girl had been living with him for a week and he had yet to get used to her outbursts.

"What are you doing here?" he asked wearily. _How had she found him?_ Was the question he was more eager to ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Cleaning," she said simply, dutifully scrubbing a tree branch as though to prove her point. Lord Voldemort twitched.

"And _why_ are you cleaning?" he insisted.

"Because you were busy." He withheld a frustrated sigh. Sarah was not one to speak clearly.

"And what is it that you needed?" Her face lit up and she pulled a curled piece of paper and a pen from her back pocket.

"I needed help with the crossword," she explained. "What's a twelve letter word for annoying? It's got an 'f' and an 'a'…"

"Insufferable." Sarah counted the white boxes on her sheet of paper.

"YES!" she cheered, jotting down the answer.

"Is that all?" the dark wizard asked.

"Not quite. I need help with this one…and this one…and this…" Lord Voldemort finally gave into temptation and rolled his eyes. He jerked his head for her to follow him and began walking again.

"A four letter word meaning 'to satisfy'" she read off.

"Sake."

Lord Voldemort seriously considered postponing his meeting. After helping Sarah finish her crossword, he had insisted, threatened, even bribed her to go back to the house and wait. But the girl was not to be swayed, and she had followed him all the way to the graveyard, now singing something about a green tambourine. He inwardly chastised himself. Of course she would have come after him: that stupid crossword was one of her little 'rituals', despite her utter inability to solve them on her own. She had, over the last week, finally worn him to the point of submission, when he finally agreed to help her figure out the foolish riddles. He thought it was utterly ridiculous. Though not nearly as idiotic as the notion of a great and feared wizard like himself, being seen by his minions in such a compromising situation. But they had already been summoned, and it would be impossible for him to stop them now. He would simply have to hope that Sarah wouldn't start any kind of mutiny. Or at least trust that he would be able to quell it if she did.

A quarter hour later, they started arriving at the graveyard. Lord Voldemort had desperately tried explaining the situation to Sarah (though he punctuated every sentence with 'so go home') and had managed to get her to admit to trying to behave.

This was a definite step in the right direction.

The girl was not even slightly phased by the blank masks and black robes Lord Voldemort's minions wore. In fact, she seemed rather…pleased.

"Hi!" Sarah squealed, running up to one of the Death Eaters. "Will you be my special friend?" The Death Eater tore off his mask, and Voldemort could only barely stop himself from laughing. The minion, Lucius Malfoy, was wearing an expression of confusion and shock and surprise, all of the emotions constantly churning on his face.

"What—who are you?" he flustered. Even his voice was a flustered combination of surprise and confusion. Sarah blinked innocently.

"I'm Sarah. Your new special friend!" she hugged him suddenly, provoking a girlish squeal of shock from Malfoy.

"_Get off me_!" he shouted, throwing Sarah violently away from him. The girl landed, unharmed, a few feet away, where she was temporarily immobilized by a fit of giggles. The flustered Death Eater pulled out his wand, his expression now decidedly angry. "Aveda—"

"_EXPELIARMUS_!" Malfoy's wand flew out of his grip with a snap and landed in his master's spidery white fingers. "I suggest you not try that again," Voldemort hissed darkly, aiming his own wand at Malfoy's heart. The moment was interrupted by a series of popping noises as several other Death Eaters arrived in succession at the scene.

"Yippee!" Sarah shouted. "More special friends!" The new arrivals only stared at her in confusion.

"Sarah," Voldemort said, pulling a small bag of money out of his robe pocket. "Go…buy something. You needed a set of nightclothes. Get some. And take your time about it." He tossed the bag to Sarah, who suddenly looked like Christmas had come early.

"Thank you, Voldemort," she sang before darting off.

She returned two hours later, when the meeting was nearly adjourned. She carried with her two rather large shopping bags and wore a wide grin. Seeing Lord Voldemort glower at her, she nodded obviously and winked.

"I gotcha. I'll be waaaay over here if you need me," she laughed, seating herself comfortably in the lap of an angelic statue. She pulled something out of her shopping bags and started working intently on it, all the while humming something that sounded suspiciously like 'Kumbaya'.

"Er…My Lord…" one of the Death Eaters mumbled, ignoring her as he inched forward. "Er…there is something I believe you would want to see…"

"What is it?" Voldemort growled. The Death Eater meekly held up a recent copy of the _Daily Prophet_. One of the articles, a letter to the editor, was circled in red.

"This…" Voldemort snatched the paper and scanned the article. Unbelieving, he read it again, and finally a third time, struggling to understand what he was looking at.

The article read:

_The following has been submitted to the_ Daily Prophet _a week ago. Whether it was meant as a sick joke or in sincerity is uncertain, but for the benefit of the public (as well as whatever humor it might bring), it has been decided that the letter will be published._

_Dear Editor,_ it read.

_I am pretty disturbed by the bias I have found in your paper. I was first alerted to said bias when I read the headline of one of your story, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns." The title in itself shows a severe degree of degradation. I mean, it's one thing to call somebody names—I have nicknames for my friends—but to_ take away their name entirely! _I just don't think it's right. Honestly, I bet you don't even know Censored. In fact, I'd be willing to bet a ton that you've never even bothered interviewing the guy! And do you even check to make sure your stories are accurate? And are you aware that spreading this news without getting both sides of a story is_ libel? _I swear, Censored can be a little rough around the edges, but he's not such a bad guy. In fact, I'm sure he'd be a regular saint if he just had more fiber in his diet (I've seen the kind of stuff he eats. Do you know that because of the things published in your paper, he's not allowed in most restaurants?)_.

_I must make it clear that I find it morally wrong to judge someone before you get to know them. And even if Censored did do all the stuff you keep accusing him of, I honestly couldn't blame him. The way you guys keep talking about him, even Mother Theresa would probably snap (it's called a self fulfilling prophesy: you expect someone to do something bad so much that they finally freak out and actually do it.) Just keep this in mind, and please, think before you publish. And always eat your fiber._

_Sincerely,_

_Concerned Buddy of My Friend Censored_

_A return address was included, and investigations are being performed as to the whereabouts of 'Concerned Buddy.'_

Voldemort looked up at Sarah, who was still sitting cross-legged in the statue's lap.

"Sarah," he said dryly. The girl looked up and put down what she was playing with. In one motion she was on her feet.

"Yup!" she shouted. Most of the Death Eaters cringed at the sudden noise.

"Did you write to the _Daily Prophet?_" he said, holding up the paper.

"'Course I did, Volders," Sarah laughed. All of his minions looked shocked now, except for Peter Petigrew, who was more than used to such behavior by now. "I'm surprised you didn't by now. Honestly, that stuff they were writing about you was just awful!"

"I see," Voldemort said, resisting the urge to massage his temples. "And you included an address?"

"Oh that," Sarah snickered. "They should have a lot of fun with that…"

"Which address did you give them, pray tell?"

"My stepdad's," she shrugged. Voldemort rolled his eyes, then paused.

"Fiber?" he asked.

"I've been telling you for ages now, but you just won't listen. So I had to get the message across _somehow._" The wizard swallowed.

"The _national newspaper_?"

"Yup!" the girl smiled broadly.

"Er…Lord Voldemort," Wormtail blundered. "If you _wanted_ more fiber, I could simply—"

"_I DO NOT WANT MORE FIBER!"_

"Oh, calm down, Volders," Sarah said comfortingly, pulling a large box out of a plastic shopping bag. "I brought Wheaties!" Voldemort glared at her for a minute, then turned back to his minions.

"Dismissed!" he seethed, glaring at each of them as they dissaparated.

The last to go was Lucious Malfoy.

"Hey, wait! Special friend!" Sarah called out, rushing to his side. The man tried desperately to dissaparate, but she grabbed him first. "You forgot something!" she pushed a thin object into his hands and backed away with a broad grin. Lucious Malfoy stared down at what he realized was her project with horror.

It was his white Deatheater's mask.

Or, at least, it _had_ _been_ white.

It was now bright pink and blue and yellow, and covered with sequins and glitter.


	5. 5: The Danger of Muggles

Disclaimer: And for your reading pleasure, Lord Voldemort will now be giving the disclaimer!

Lord Voldemort: I didn't agree to that!

Sarah: No. I did. Come on, it'll be fun!

LV: I doubt that.

S: Come on, Volders! I'll give you a cookie.

LV: ...What kind?

S: Chocolate chunk!

LV: Fine. Grabs cookie Anyway, Moonshade doesn't own anything but Sarah. Not that she can control that girl either, but...leaves the room grumbling and chewing on his cookie

A/N: Thousand thank yous to Amie for giving me the idea for this. You rock, my friend. Voldemort will be coming to your house soon with a bouquet of flowers. But don't worry, Sarah stole his wand again, soyou need not worry.

* * *

**The Danger of Muggles**

"Hey Volders?" Sarah called, walking out of the kitchen. The Dark Lord cast her a sidelong glance.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I think I found a problem." She raised a charred, half melted piece of metal.

"And what is _that_?" Voldemort asked.

"I think it's what happens when you leave a frying pan on the burner too long. Or it could be a piece of modern art. But I didn't think Peter was the artsy type."

"That much is true," Voldemort said dryly.

"Yeah. You know, I was wondering if stir fry was supposed to have that much iron in it."

"Clearly not."

"But how would you know, Volders? You didn't even know what stir fry _was_ until I told you!" Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes uselessly.

"Because you didn't look nearly as excited as usual."

"Oh. Well, whatever. We need to get new pots and pans and stuff."

"Pots, too?"

"Yeah. The only usable piece of equipment left in the kitchen is a spoon. And I think it used to be a fork." The Dark Lord raised one eyebrow. Talking to Sarah, though exhausting, was never boring.

"That is mildly disturbing. So I assume you want me to take you to Diagon Alley?" he asked. Sarah looked thoughtful.

"Well, yeah. But I just like going there. It's fun. But I don't think it'll be the best place for kitchen stuff."

"They have enough shops there. _One_ of them should have what you're looking for."

"I know. But you know me. Even if I could find it, it'd only be after a good three days of looking." Voldemort was about to add a snide comment, but he reconsidered. He was hungry, and Sarah was his only link to the Muggle's _Fast Food_.

"So what do you intend to do about it?" he asked. Sarah pulled a bright orange flier from her back pocket.

"I picked this up the other day. It says that a huge mall opened not too far from here a couple of days ago. And where there's a mall, there's going to be at least one kitchen supply store. Or something."

"And you won't be too easily distracted, I hope?"

"Most likely."

"Wormtail," Voldemort hissed wearily. "Stay here. And do not break anything."

"He's not coming?"

"Of course not. That bumbling fool would only cause disaster in a Muggle store." He hissed something at the snake, and after a thorough 'that's so cool!' from Sarah, they left the house.

The trip was a slow one-- Sarah's bizzare immunity to magic meant that she couldn't be apparated to the nearest muggle store, and Voldemort didn't want to admit that he knew nothing of cooking or kitchenware, and couldn't effectively go on his own. In the end, he was forced to accompany her to the Muggle mall on foot.

But Sarah did succeed in making the trip interesting. She started by humming an annoying song. Within two blocks of the house, the hum became a lively whistle. Soon after, she burst out singing. It was a cheerful tune, complemented by insanely morbid lyrics about a frog that blinked, was hit by a truck, and was eventually devoured by a dog. As disturbing as the song was, Sarah seemed to adore it, and nothing Lord Voldemort said or did could convince her to stop singing.

"Ooh!" she cried suddenly as the mall came into sight. "We're here! Vo—I mean Tom! We're here!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, pointing excitedly at a large mass of color and odor and motion that was apparently the mall.

Lord Voldemort gave a resigned sigh and allowed himself to be dragged through the crowd, careful to keep his head down, so nobody would recognize him through the hood. Whether this was from mortification or the need for secrecy was no longer clear.

He raised his head slightly when Sarah stopped. He saw more light and color, hundreds of people, but nothing that looked like it belonged in a kitchen.

"What is it, exactly, that you wanted?" he asked dryly, half afraid to hear the answer.

"Pots and pans," Sarah chirped. "But we're taking a detour first." Voldemort dreaded the answer before he asked the question.

"What kind of a detour?"

"Here!" Sarah squealed, pointing at the large, sickeningly colorful sign that loomed over them. It read _Old Navy_. Inside the windows were mannequins displaying increasingly more ridiculous clothing.

"You already bought nightclothes," he said.

"This isn't for me, you silly goose." Voldemort wondered how he had ever managed to be classified as a goose. He dearly hoped that all of the people in this forsaken shopping center would die before he came to power. "It's for you!"

"Wha—" before he could protest or ask, Sarah shoved him inside the shop, dragging him by the wrist to through dozens of aisles. She stopped suddenly, nearly sending him plummeting into one of the displays, and started attacking a nearby shelf. She seized nearly two dozen pairs of blue pants and threw them at the Dark Lord, then grabbed him again and dragged him to another aisle, where she repeated the assault with a number of shirts, all the while babbling incomprehensibly. Voldemort tried to flee the obviously rabid girl, but she grabbed him again and forced him to the back of the store.

"Put those on," she said excitedly, practically throwing him into one of the dressing rooms. "See which ones fit." And with a goofy grin on her face, she closed the door in his face.

Lord Voldemort seriously considered apperating out of the store.

Then he realized with a groan: his wand wasn't among the overwhelming pile of clothes. Sarah had stolen it again.

Muttering disdainfully, he threw off his robes and grabbed one of the pairs of pants.

Nearly an hour later, Voldemort emerged from the dressing room stall, still muttering.

"Cheer up, Tom," Sarah said cheerfully, examining his sleeves. "Yup! A large will fit you just fine. And do those jeans fit?" The Dark Lord nodded grudgingly. "Are they comfy?"

"Comfortable enough."

"Good! You can change back, then."

_Why am I being dismissed by a little muggle girl?_ Voldemort wondered vaguely to himself. But he brushed it aside, taking relief at least that he was allowed to wear his robes again. When he finished dressing for what seemed to be the thousandth time, he left the dressing room at last. Sarah was waiting for him, a shopping bag in her arms. Evidently, she had been busy while he was struggling with the muggle clothes.

"What is in _that_?" he asked.

"Your new disguise," the girl chirped. "I noticed that you were getting funny looks on the way here. Your clothes are really cool and all, but they attract a bit too much attention."

"Are you sure it had nothing to do with your singing?" Voldemort asked.

"Positive," she said.

"Sarah, _what in the world is this_?" Lord Voldemort hissed, storming from the bathroom.

"What is what?" she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side in mild confusion.

"THIS!" Voldemort nearly shouted, pointing a shaking hand at his new 'disguise'. Beneath his finger was a large black sweatshirt, the hood of which fell low over Voldemort's head, obscuring his face. Sunglasses covered his crimson eyes, and he wore a pair of plain blue pants. He looked, in short, like an ordinary, if eccentric, muggle.

"A hoodie, jeans, and sunglasses. Nothing unusual about that. In fact, it's the perfect disguise!" Sarah announced proudly.

"And what about _this_?" he asked, plucking disdainfully at a line of sequined silver lettering on his shirt, spelling out the word '_Sexy_'.

"That's positive stereotyping. I'm getting you new fans."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Simple." She took off her backpack and ruffled through it, pulling out a handful of papers. "Observe:" she pointed to one of the papers, which showed a picture of a cartoon boy. "This is a typical stereotyped villain. He is also known as a bishie, because he's driven, determined, and dang cool. In fact, he has more fangirls than the three main characters put together. That's good. You want fangirls. This, however," she took out another picture, "is another villain on the same show. He's the super-uber-villain. Nobody likes...well, he does have a fanlisting online, but it's really small. Everybody has a fanlisting online. But that's besides the point. The point is that most people hate him because he's stupid and couldn't do anything right if his life depended on it. The difference? One is is hated and constantly beaten into the ground, the other popular and loved throughout the show. One is stupid, the other driven. One looks like a chimpanzee, the other is drop dead sexy. You can guess which one gets all the sympathy and support."

"What?"

Sarah put the pictures back in her pack.

"Anyway, I wouldn't necessarily call you a villain, but the whole 'dark lord/take over the world' thing...it's a bit of a classic villainous thing to do. And if you're going to go down that path, you want a good sized army of fangirls to back you up."

"What are fangirls?"

"Just what they sound like. Girls, ranging anywhere between ten and thirty years old, who are devoted fans and would gladly tip a semi-truck for you. They tend to be rabid, though that isn't a requirement."

"I already have the Death Eaters."

"Yes. But they would only jump in front of the Semi. I've seen them, and I'm sorry to say, they're not the most capable bunch. What you need is fangirls. And the only way you're gonna get those is with fan appeal." Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses.

"And how do you expect to do that?"

"Just keep doing what you're doing, but remember to add a couple of sinister smiles now and then, and stare into the distance when you can't think of anything clever to say. Trust me, you'll get a huge fanlisting in no time."

"But I don't want a...whatever it is. I'm trying to maintain secrecy."

"I know. But trust me, fangirls will help. You just have to have enough duct tape to keep them quiet." She started walking.

"_Duct tape_?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Anyway, we're here." She pointed cheerfully at the window of a nearby shop. Dozens of pots and pans blinked back at them, the multihued light bouncing off the polished metal. Voldemort followed Sarah inside, eager to finish this nightmarish trip and get back to the hideout.

He wondered whether to be intrigued or frightened.

Hundreds of devices hung from polished metal racks and rested on wooden shelves, looking like they were better suited for a torture chamber than a kitchen. Lord Voldemort could name precious few of them, much less guess what they were designed to do, though most of them looked quite vicious.

"Eeeeexcelent," Sarah said, rubbing her hands together menacingly.

"I'll leave you to it, then," the Dark Lord said, turning to examine something that looked like a particularly menacing fork. The girl needed no further invitation, and she walked knowledgeably through the aisles, picking up a few of the metal goods as she passed.

"Excuse me," she asked one of the cashiers, after a half hour of shopping. She had accumulated a large quantity of supplies, ranging from several pots to a sushi mat. "Do you have any themed plates?"

"Of course we do," the man said pleasantly. "Is there a specific design that you're looking for?"

"Actually, yes," Sarah said, sounding quite sane. "Do you have any snake themed plates?"  
"_Snake_?"

"Yes. You know, serpent, viper, legless lizard. Snakes."

"Ah...I'm not sure..."

"Snakeskin print, maybe?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe so..."

"Oh," Sarah said, sounding rather disappointed. "Do you have any Halloween themed plates, then?"

"They're not in season at the moment. I'm sorry, you'd have to come by in October. Or September, at earliest. But maybe I can help you find something close. What exactly are you hoping to find?"

"Sculls."

"What?"

"Or maybe bones. Hey, I know! Do you have any pirate stuff? I bet that'd work." The cashier looked slightly frightened now."

"I'm sorry...no."

Sarah eventually settled for something else. Lord Voldemort stared at the selection with something short of horror.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Bunnies," Sarah replied simply. "I wanted snakes, but that didn't work out. So I figured, 'if you can't have them, why not get their favorite food?'"

"They prefer mice."

"I thought so. But you'd be amazed. These people are really reluctant to even _talk_ about rats in here. It's crazy. But boa constrictors eat bunnies, don't they?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess it'll work. Hey, will you help me get this stuff back home?" She widened her eyes, apparently trying to make herself look as cute as possible. Voldemort withheld a frustrated sigh.

"Are we leaving this pit now?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Will you give me back my..." he faltered. He couldn't say 'wand' in this muggle infested trap.

"This?" Sarah asked, holding up the wand in question.

"Yes."

"Yup!" She piled several large pots into his arms. "Let's go."


	6. 6: Stories and Plans

Disclaimer: I wish that I owned Harry Potter. And Voldemort. And much, much more. That would make me happy. But alas, I will content myself with just writing this fanfic.

AN:...I...Am kind of scared. I haven't updated this in...about a year? August 7, 2005. It is currently September 26, 2006. Yeah. I apologize. Sincerely. And...I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't lynch me for taking so long (I actually have been working on it for about this entire year.) I also apologize for any spelling errors (though I did my best to catch any that came up!), because my spellchecker is broken, and I feel guilty about taking extra time away to run this through a spellcheck website.

* * *

Chapter 6: Stories and Plans

"And then he did _what_?" Sarah squealed. Petigrew leaned forward and continued, enjoying the rapt attention of his audience.

"He summoned all his followers. All except me, of course," he added, not hiding the smug tone in his voice. "Because I was already there. And he told them off. Malfoy was about to wet his pants, as guilty as he was, making himself a traitorous fortune while the rest of us suffered in silence."

"You mean my Special Friend?" the girl hooted.

"The same!" Petigrew snickered. "And then," he took a breath, restoring the tone of awe that had come before. "As soon as he had their proper attention, he gave me…this!" He held up his silvery hand, beaming at it.

"So that's where you got it!" Sarah concluded, poking it.

"Yes. But that's not all. Just then…" he continued with his story, and she continued poking his hand, but he was too wrapped in his tale to be annoyed.

* * *

"'Ey, Volders?" Sarah asked, flopping down in her couch. He gave no sign of having heard her. His head was still bent over the expanse of papers that was strewn across the floor. "Volders? _Voooolders_?" Losing patience, she snatched away the paper that seemed to have captured the majority of his attention: it looked like the floor plan of some building.

"What is it?" he grated, trying to grab the paper back, only to have it pulled out of his reach.

"What? Are you trying to start a business or something?" she asked, scrutinizing the paper. "Or are you trying to rob somebody?"

"Accio," Voldemort muttered, and the floor plan flew from her hands into his. Apparently, he could still use magic on the objects around her; only Sarah herself seemed to be immune. "What _is_ _it_?" he repeated.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, still examining the papers that lay below her. For an expectant moment, he waited.

"_Well_?" he pressed.

"You were trying to kill that Harry Potter kid, right?" He twitched; she had definitely jostled a nerve.

"Yes," he growled.

"But you didn't. That makes enough sense. But…" At this point he swore to make Wormtail pay for telling her that story. Even if it _had_ shut her up for a few hours. "Why on earth did you go back and try it again? I mean, if it didn't work the first time, what made you so sure that things would be any different the next time around?"

"Because of an irritating ordeal concerning a prophesy."

"A prophesy?"

"I have work to do, Sarah."

"So what all was supposed to happen, in acordinance with the prophesy?"

"I'm sure you have something better to do right now." She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"And I wanted to know, about this Harry Potter kid," she continued, nearly ignoring his request. "If everyone calls him 'the-boy-who-lived,' then what does that make you? The-man-who-let-the-boy-live?"

"I'm busy," he grumbled, shifting the papers pointedly. She was not to be dissuaded…although it wasn't difficult to distract her.

"Doing what?" she asked, thinking herself sly.

"Reclaiming an article of personal importance," he said, leaning closer to his papers, as though that would muffle her voice.

"You really are going to rob somebody!" she cried, something resembling awe or criticism in her voice.

"Yes," he said, grateful at least for a change of subject.

"Who?"

"Gringotts."

"Never heard of 'im."

"It's a bank," Voldemort said. He didn't bother becoming angry; his irritation would be lost on her anyway. "A wizard's bank." The girl raised an eyebrow.

"You have banks just for wizards?" she asked. "Can't you just use the same ones everyone else—I mean, the muggles—use?"

"No," the Dark Lord said dryly. "Muggle banks pathetically lack security. No wizard's money would be safe there…not that Muggles would carry our currency."

"Oh." Sarah picked up another paper from the scattered pile. "Dragons?" she murmured. "You have dragons? Real ones…" The diagram gave a detailed drawing of a fierce looking dragon, complete with notes detailing its most vulnerable points.

"They certainly aren't fake," Voldemort shrugged.

"And those…those are spells, aren't they? And alchemic charts…I saw those on TV once…" She looked absolutely delighted now. "You're really serious about this thing, aren't you?"

He glanced at her for a flickering moment. "Dead serious," he said. She grinned at him.

"You really like the concept of dying, don't you? Skulls, Death Eaters, and all that," she mused. He shrugged. "You might want to be careful about that," she continued. "People might get the wrong idea."

"They seem to be interpreting it perfectly," he said, a dark grin flitting across his pale face.

"I'm not so sure, Voldie-Poo," she said. "From what I've seen, usually that implies that you're mildly depressed and may be suffering from psychosis."

"What?" he eyed her warily.

"And a bit of a control freak. Maybe even mildly paranoid about being bald. But that's just a rough analysis. But if you want the Freudian—"

"What time is it?" he interrupted her, hoping to quell the absurdities that left her mouth before they became too extreme.

"'Bout half past eight. Why?"

"I have buisness to attend to," he muttered, compiling his papers and stowing them on a dusty shelf.

"Business?" she echoed, rolling off the couch. "Are you going to go rob that Grin-goats place now?"

"Gringotts," he corrected wearily. "And no."

"That graveyard, then?" she asked, freakishly excited to be surrounded by dead people. "You're going to go talk with your band?"

"Yes," he said flatly. He had already given up trying to convince her that his minions were not capable of anything that could ever be mistaken for music.

"Can I come?" He looked her in the eyes for a long moment, trying once again to understand why: why she was unaffected by his magic, why she was so eager to follow him around, why she inisted on staying.

"If I say no, you'll come anyway," he shrugged, walking out the door.

"True enough," she said, and came bounding through the doorway a moment later, following at his heels.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was powerful beyond compare, but even he had constraints to obey. Money, which had never before been a problem, suddenly seemed to be in bitterly short supply. Though he had more than enough, he quickly realized that if he had Sarah go shopping every time he planned to hold a meeting, he would either be forced to discontinue his pursuits or starve. Neither option sounded appealing.

Nor was the idea of having a "Grand Entry" every time he appeared before his followers. Unable to outrun the exstatic girl, he could only grimace while she slapped her knees in a childish drumroll and sounded a loud, imbacillic trumpet call.

"_Announcing_ the man who needs no introduction, you all know him and love him, his grand high most cunning, the great LORD 'TOMMY-BOY' VOLDEMORT!" She completed the cry with a shower of rice that she had pilfered from the kitchen before they left. The Death Eaters just stared. Meanwhile Voldemort wondered whether it would be more appeasing to his ruined ego to kill them or himself.

"Malfoy," he hissed so only one could hear. The youngest of his minions looked up in reverent surprise.

"Me, my lord?" he asked, skirting his way to the Dark Lord's side.

"I have an assignment for you." A dreading excitement lit up in the boy's eyes. Similar enough to Sarah's, but far less annoying.

"I'll do whatever you ask, my lord," he rhasped. Lord Voldemort allowed slight satisfaction to brush past his eyes, and he pointed at Sarah.

"That girl. Keep her busy until the end of the meeting." The young minion's face dropped slightly.

"What?" he stammered involuntarily. Receiving his master's sharp glance, he bowed his head apologetically. "Right away, sir." Voldemort watched the boy slink to her side with the utmost satisfaction.

Sarah glanced up with mild amusement to see a blond haired young man, a few years older than herself, standing over her. He looked oddly like her 'Special Friend'—she grinned at the thought.

"My name's Draco," he said. "Could I have yours?"

"Sarah," she replied simply.

"Sarah, hm? It's a lovely name." She nodded a thanks at him, and he continued. "So, Sarah, what's a girl like you doing in a graveyard like this?" He sounded very practiced and suave. She blinked at him for a moment.

"Seems to be the place to be these days, doesn't it?" she waved her hand pointedly at the mass of Death Eaters that Voldemort was now adressing. He almost twitched, as though trying not to wrinkle his nose at her reply. She remembered seeing the same pulse on Voldemort's face.

"For some people, I suppose," he said with a smooth shrug. "But it seems a bit dreary for someone with such a pretty face."

There was an audible pause, and slowly, Sarah's eyebrow raised. The pause stretched into akwardness.

"Are you…_hitting_ on me?" she asked slowly.

He blinked in reply.

"And you're…" she looked him up and down. "What? Three, four years older than me?" Slowly, subconciously, he nodded. She grimaced.

"Um…no thanks." She slid from the tombstone and began meandering subtlely away from him. He noticed with a note of panic that she was edging her way towards Lord Voldemort.

"But you're not being fair," he said, darting between her and his master, hoping that his haste hadn't diluted his charm. "The least you could do is give me a chance." He flashed her a smile that had sent several Slytherin girls into giggles. Sarah only looked uncomfortable.

"Maybe when I'm older," she said, sidling away. He paused for a few seconds.

"You're older now," he pointed out.

"Not old enough."

"And how old would that be?" He recited 'The Look'—that glance that could stun a teenage girl from a mile away. Her discomfort deepened.

"I'm thinking…Seventy. Yep. I'm strictly not allowed to date anyone before then. Sorry, Draco, but…"

For nearly two hours he herded her away from the Dark Lord, who continued watching them out of the corner of his eye while he conducted the meeting. He doubted that he had ever experienced a quieter moment since she had begun following him around. The experience was delectable, but short lived. The instant that the Death Eaters scattered to disapparate, she sprinted away from her pretend suitor, colliding with the Dark Lord with an unholy crash.

"Voldemort!" she squealed in distress, clinging to his arm. "Voldemort, help!" Somewhere during the impact, he had loosened his hold on his wand, and she wrenched it from his reach. "Voldemort, he's creepy! Make him _leave me alooooone_!" Young Malfoy looked less than thrilled to be described as 'creepy.' Altogether, he wasn't disappointed with the evening's accomplishments, but he could gloat later. At the moment he was wandless, and Sarah had him in her power.

"That will do," he said to Malfoy, who looked somewhat miffed and somewhat relieved to be released from his assignment, but he obediently bowed and backed away, disapperating with the others. "Come, Sarah," the Dark Lord said, with an unusually smug wave of his hand. She grinned and followed after, recalling her harrowing experience with 'that Draco skeeve'. He was content to listen to her story, and didn't release an irritated sigh when she finally returned his wand.

Lord Voldemort was in a mood that could not be shattered.

Becase Lord Voldemort finally had a plan.


End file.
